The Innamorati
by TraceZBullet
Summary: A conversation about vanity leads to more. GSR. Spoilers for Fallen Idols. Oneshot. Smut.


**A/N: Oneshot, probably, and quite smutty :D Please review and note this is unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine. This is dedicated to Mic to make up for her moron of a computer. Luv ya! ;P I hope you enjoy it. **

**ATTENTION: CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR FALLEN IDOLS! BEWARE!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to these characters or the show. They belong to CBS. No copyright infringement intended and I am not making any money from this. **

**This is your 2nd warning: Watch out, I'm serious, there are spoilers. Please don't PM/ review and get all mad. I warned you, twice.**

**The Innamorati**

_Exactly how shaving had worked its way into the conversation would remain a mystery but it began with Grissom, a pair of murdered lovers, and a cup of coffee. _

_"You know," he said as he flipped a page in the case folder, "this reminds me of the __Commedia del l'arte_."

_She had quirked a brow and given him a questioning and half-exasperated look. _

_"The characters in the play, the innamorati, were young lovers. Lust, romance…They were always united at the end but often vanity got in the way. "_

_A smirk crossed her face and she reached out to touch his salt and pepper bristtles. "Vanity, you say?" He looked hurt for a second. "Well?" she said expectantly, "surely Shakespeare's got something for the occasion" She needn't have worried. _

_He had shoved the hurt away. "For violent fires soon burn out themselves; Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short; He tires betimes that spurs too fast betimes; With eager feeding doth choke the feeder; Light vanity, insatiate cormorant, Consuming means, soon preys upon itself_."

_--- ---_

"Do you trust me?" she asked, half kidding, half not, as she dipped the old-fashioned razor in the steaming water and turned to face him. He stared for a moment, in a trance, still plagued by the memory of her soft fingers spreading the white foam across his upper lip in electrifying circles. It didn't help that she was an arm's length away and wearing the lowest cut sweatshirt he had ever seen.

Fighting to remain coherent as she ran her tongue across her lip and stepped so close he could feel her heat. The first word that popped to his mind was, ironically, "Intimately." She might as well have asked how he wanted to touch her.

One delicate stroke from her hand and a tingling sweep of the icy razor and his pupils were obliterated by waves of black desire. Why couldn't he control himself around this woman? Barely moving under the blade, he stretched with his left hand to finger a curl of her satiny hair. "You look beautiful," he mumbled and she shushed him with a finger for fear he'd get cut. Unthinkingly, he kissed her finger where it rested across his lips and was half-tempted to take it into his mouth. Their gaze locked.

The trickle of water in the background, the herbal smell of shampoo— each were magnified but none more so than the huge chocolate eyes that eyed him with lust. It took a barely perceptible quirk of her eye and he was done holding back.

Their bodies crashed together hungrily, not caring as the shaving cream squished everywhere, leaving puffy dollops down her neck. The razor clattered to the sink as he shoved her against it, hard enough to bruise, and attacked her as their skin slid together. The slightly bitter taste stung on her lips but it was in pleasure that she moaned as she ruffled cool fingers through his damp hair. He forgot to breathe as he had his first taste of her lips in far too long. Petal soft and tasting of cherries— just the way he remembered.

Hot kisses slid down her collar and Grissom whimpered needily as her hand rested innocently on his cheek. His mind was already going hazy as their pelvises touched through thin material and bucked together jarringly. With frenzied pulling, her dark sweatshirt stretched over hooded eyes, sweet-smelling hair, and her two raised arms. It slid away, forgotten, to pool on the tile. The pale canvas of her flesh invited him to decorate it with his kisses. Down along her bra strap, he trailed his tongue. Over the swell of perfect, smooth skin, and down into the valley between the two revealing circles. She pushed her chest towards his waiting mouth, aching for him to give her nipples some attention. Obliging her silent plea, he unhooked the garment and slid it away. The chill air of the room made her shiver against him. Her fingers played across his waistband in whisper soft contact.

"Touch me, Sara, please," he murmured as his breath seared her bared breast. She pulled herself onto the lip of the sink and clapped her legs around his waist, slamming their bodies together. Instinctively, her legs opened further, and he pressed against her as they kissed, still wearing his boxers. He felt so familiar but God, she wanted him as much as she had the first time. Roughly, assaultingly, he pulled her shirt away and pulled her mouth to his. His hands dropped to her lower back and cupped her lovingly. With one gentle finger, she slipped the pair of boxers from his waist and heard them drop to the floor.

Like water, her hands slid under his shirt and flickered across his skin.

He couldn't get enough as his mouth began massaging her earlobe. Wriggling electrifyingly against him, she slid out of her trousers and crashed against him once more. It was with shaking hands that he tore away her laced underwear. It too drifted to the floor, but in tatters. None of it mattered, though as he brushed the skin of her inner thighs and stepped a little closer. A gasp of anticipation escaped her. Their chests slammed together again with contusion-causing force. Then he sank into her, rough, and almost desperate with need.

She eagerly pulled him into her, breathing in feral gasps and gripping for purchase in his hair. He was too lost in her to notice the pain. Her skin felt like fire under his tongue as he savored the creamy nape of her neck for the first time in too long. God, he had forgotten how much he needed her.

Their bodies remembered all too well and soon they were gone in each thrust. Her swollen lips slid against his bristly cheek and sank to his neck as he pulled away and crashed back against her. The mirror protested behind them. It was ice against her bare back. Shaking with unfulfilled aching, he braced his arms over her shoulders and his hips met hers once more. She stared into the pools of his eyes before she yanked him forward and crushed her lips to his. Vaguely she realized that she was going to have bruises on her legs from being crushed against the ice-cold porcelain sink. With the edges of her vision blurring, she didn't care. The only important thing was him, his pace inside her, the heat of his kiss, the flowery taste of the streaming cream; the incoherent, adoring words tumbling between them and the ecstasy that was gathering with all the force and charge of a thunder storm. "Don't stop," she panted, clawing for a hold on his well-muscled back, and he grunted, moving them faster. The heat was unbearable, the pleasure frantic and impossibly strong; she was numb with it but she couldn't stop--and then he slid a hand between them and touched her just right. Her eyes snapped shut in reaction and her mind plummeted away.

The lightening hit in a nearly blinding flash behind their eyes.

She tried to say his name, but it came out choked as every muscle in her body seemed to forget how to move. She was drowning ecstasy, mind blank, her eyes blinded, her ears deafened, every part of skin burning. Grissom was groaning something, but she couldn't hear. He shuddered with release as he held her in his embrace.

"God," she finally whispered in his ear as she relaxed and rested her head against his shoulder.

"You can still call me Grissom, sweetie," he whispered. His thumbs still lazily stroked her soft, rosy nipples. Her laugh was weak with exhaustion. The mirror, now steamed, reflected Grissom as he caressed a damp strand of coffee-colored hair away from her cheek. Then he folded around her and for several blissful minutes they didn't move. Skin cooling, hearts slowing, him against her and finally in her arms once more— she never wanted to move again.

"Do you love me?" she asked quietly. Her voice hummed through her throat and into him. Where had that come from? The question took him completely by surprise. His breath and his words eluded him for a moment. Her skin stuck to his, her smell clung in the air.

He breathed, "Sara." Her legs, still dangling from the counter, entwined with his. With one hand, he cupped her head and pulled her away to meet her eyes. "Yes, I do."

"Me too." Sara paused. "Oh, you're most definitely not vain and even if you were, you're sexy enough to pull it off." A mirthful smile lit her face.

"Good," he rumbled. Relieved and heart still pounding, she shut her eyes and kissed him gently in response.


End file.
